


Turn My World

by sirius



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirius/pseuds/sirius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was written in 2008 and includes explicit sexual content.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Turn My World

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/7549) by soucieux. 



> This fic was written in 2008 and includes explicit sexual content.

_\--Every woman I have ever loved has left her print upon me, where I loved some invaluable piece of myself apart from me -- so different that I had to stretch and grow in order to recognize her. And in that growing, we came to separation, that place where work begins._ Audre Lorde.

_Narita, Kame._

When Jin leaves to go to America, Kame's the only one who comes to the airport. He doesn't tell Jin because Kame's the reason Jin's going. Jin wouldn't want Kame there. Kame comes up after check-in has closed, stands in the viewing area and watches the planes take off.

He's there for around four hours, until Jin's plane is a tiny speck in the sky, as inconsequential as dust. 

“See you in April,” he says, and a young girl nearby repeats it, a new phrase, full of excitement.

_New York, Kame._

It's not as late as April, after all. In January, KAT-TUN goes to visit Jin in America.

Jin and Koki go clubbing in the evening, because Koki's angrier at Jin than any of the band and they bond best underneath bright lights and surrounded by people. That's what Maru says, anyway, and Kame doesn't argue because he's got no idea what he'd say if he tried. He and Maru and Ueda sit in the hotel bar and wait for Jin and Koki to come back. Junno has long since gone to bed. Ueda follows quickly and for Maru and Kame, staying awake is a little bit like a competition.

“It's gone too,” Maru says, eventually. “I think we've sat here long enough.”

“Yeah,” Kame says, chasing an olive around in his glass. “I guess.” He slides down from his bar stool and places a large note on their bar tab. He waves it away when Maru protests, and he's so busy waving that he doesn't see Jin until Jin's right in front of him. The top buttons of his shirt are open and there are all sorts of people on him, Kame can smell that. 

“Whoa,” Maru says, taking in Koki, who is happily chatting away to the barman in broken English. “I'm going to get rid of him somewhere, okay?”

Kame nods, they exchange goodnight wishes, and he's left with Jin. Jin and all those other people, none of whom Kame knows, none of whom Kame should care about. 

“Good night?” he says, only he doesn't tip the question up at the end, and so Jin just says, “goodnight” back and makes to leave. Kame has to catch him by the arm, and when he turns, says, “No, no, I mean-- did you have a good evening?”

“It was okay,” Jin says. “What about you?”

“Fine,” Kame says, fumbling for some way to make things alright. “They do good drinks here.”

“America has a lot of good things,” Jin says, and it comes out more bitterly than it should, probably, because Kame's face kind of tugs. “Like Japan,” he adds.

“You are coming back?” Kame says. 

“I'm coming back,” Jin says. 

“Come up with me,” Kame says. “Just, come up, okay?”

Jin does. They ride the elevator, which takes a preposterously long time and involves them both opening their mouths, closing them, choking down sentences. Kame turns to Jin and he can feel the rise of a word in his throat, but he's interrupted by the ping of the doors opening, and the moment is gone.

Jin sits on Kame's bed as Kame takes out his outfit for tomorrow's shoot.

“What are you wearing?” Kame asks, looking at Jin in the mirror. He's holding up a shirt to himself, a little worried about the fit. 

Jin shrugs. “They sent something,” he says. “I haven't looked yet.”

“You should have,” Kame says, on instinct. “What if it doesn't fit?”

“I'll improvise,” Jin says. “It's not the end of the world.”

“You can't just make things fit that don't,” Kame says. “Look how well we turned out.”

“We turned out fine,” Jin says, stubbornly. “Your shirt won't fit.”

“My shirt,” Kame says, turning, the shirt clutched tight to his chest, “is fucking fine. How can you say we're fine? Are you crazy?”

Jin shrugs, again, looks up at Kame. He's drunk, very drunk, Kame can see that, and yet the smell of all those people on him is so overpowering that he can't stop himself. 

“We've lasted this long,” Jin says. “You can't help what you are. I can't help what I am. We don't fit but it's alright, it'll be fine. Things will work out. They always do.”

“Johnny sent you here to give me space,” Kame says. 

“Yeah,” Jin says. “And to give me space, too.”

“Do you think it worked?” Kame asks. He lets go of the shirt before it creases. 

“I don't know,” Jin says. “Do you still think I'm a selfish cunt?”

Kame thinks about this, turns back to the mirror. “I think you're you,” he says, eventually. 

“Well, there you go,” Jin says, rising to his feet. “Problem's not on me.”

“Fuck you,” Kame says, then, under his breath. “Fuck, Jin, do we have to do this now?”

“You invited me to your room,” Jin says. “It's not on me, Kame. You think this is all on me, but it isn't.”

Kame turns to him, then, makes quick work of the room because if he doesn't do this now, if he doesn't put his lips on Jin's so hard he stops thinking, if he can't do _that_ , none of it will ever make sense to Jin. It'll never make sense to himself. The last thing he remembers is Jin palming the wall as Kame made room between Jin's knees and grabbing his face--

He's in the shower, suddenly, and Jin is gone, and everything is gone. He puts a finger to his lips and can't tell whether or not they've been kissed.

_Tokyo, Kame._

It happens for the second time in the shower, too. The one place that usually brings him solitude isn't working its magic that day. Kame tilts his head back and lets the water pour down his shoulders and his back, but it doesn't help. The feeling of being washed clean has no miraculous effect. The soft fresh smell of shower gel doesn't clear his head. The silence, usually so powerful, doesn't still his thoughts. 

He looks at the world outside through the steamed glass and he listens to the world beyond over the rush of the water. There's nothing. Nothing at all. Everybody is asleep, which is what he should be – but he can't think about that. He'd do anything not to think about that. When the shower fails him, he takes himself in hand, determined to block out everything that he feels with pure, hedonistic pleasure. 

It's tight, hot, it's been a while, so it doesn't take long. It rarely does, anyway. He braces himself against the shower wall and delights in the tickle of water down his hipbones. When he's right there, his mind switches from its default (breasts, his ex on her back, the hair against the pillow, her lips parted and the 'K' sound just a breath on them) to something else, something he can't seem to keep out of his mind at moments like this.

Only Jin hasn't got breasts and it's Kame on his back and there's nothing like breath, nothing so pretty and so pleasant, it's rough, and hard, and Kame tries to push it away with all of his might because he _can't_ come again with Jin on his mind, he just can't, and --

When he wakes up suddenly, he thinks it's all been a dream. Kame's brain is so repressive that it unconsciously recognises what he cannot have. It's three in the morning and he turns over, sighs, ignoring his hardness, ignoring everything in the favour of more sleep. Pressing his head into the cooler part of the pillow, he feels suddenly that his hair is soaking wet.

When he sneaks a hand down his stomach, tentatively touches his cock, he's right _there_ , and it only takes a second of grip for him to come, harder than he ever has. 

It makes no sense, he muses, as he drifts off. Still. He's grateful, because that time he wasn't thinking about Jin. He wasn't thinking about anything.

_Los Angeles, Jin._

It's a week before Jin's due back in Japan, and he's making the most of it. He drives half the night, sees the things you don't have time to see during the day time. When he gets back to his apartment in the early hours of the morning, he sleeps for a few hours. The sun keeps him right: it's sunnier here than any other place he's ever been to, and he finds that he doesn't need all that much sleep. All of his new friends keep asking him if he really wants to go, and the truth is that he doesn't. He has to go, which is an entirely different thing. It's part of being adult, Kame would say. Kame's been an adult since he was fifteen years old.

Kame. Sometimes, Jin thumbs his contact details on his cell phone, but he never calls. He hasn't called him once in six months. The only time they've spoken was when KAT-TUN came over to New York. Jin doesn't like to think about that: the memory is a twisted ball of paper in his gut.

Even at this short notice, Jin's tempted to stay in Los Angeles. Pick up bar work or something. His mother wouldn't be too proud of him, but then at least he'd have a good shot at being happy. 

It's not even Kame's fault, really, he thinks, turning onto the street where he's been living for all these months. Jin's always had an impulsive temper and Kame just rubs him up the wrong way, that's all. They're like brothers, always at each other's throats, but the loyalty is there. The bigger problem is that KAT-TUN isn't a band that tolerates disharmony: unlike real brothers, money is thicker than blood. It's a band on a tenuous strand of string. Johnny saw that Jin was wobbling the string and asked him, one summer morning, whether he would consider taking a hiatus.

Being away from Kame has had its benefits. Jin felt stifled by him; stifled by the arguments and the disapproval and the way Kame acts as though he's a manager and not one of them. More than that, he felt stifled by his own feelings for Kame, which are as impulsive and as inappropriate as his temper. If fighting with Kame was wobbling the string, then trying his best to fuck Kame would have been cutting it altogether, and Jin's been glad of the distance between them. He's confident that when he returns to Japan, he won't want Kame anymore. He won't want to shout at him, and he won't want to feel the press of his hipbones against his own, against the rugged white sheets that Kame keeps so neat--

_Fuck_ , Jin thinks, unlocking his door and taking in the apartment, half-packed away. _Not a good start._

Suddenly he starts and drops his keys on the floor.

In his head, he's a girl and he's on his back against the white, white sheets. His hair is spilling out onto the pillows and his eyes are wide and he can't stop licking his lips. Everything feels different: he's not doing the fucking, his hips are tilted up and Kame's gripping them. There are breasts against Kame's chest, and it takes a moment for him to realise that they're his own, and when Kame puts a hand down between his legs he breathes the name 'Kame'.

Back against the wall of his apartment, Jin feels like a pervert for touching himself through his jeans, but the image is so strong and so vivid he can't help it, he can't stop. At the last moment, the image changes and it's Kame underneath him, head thrown back and begging for it harder, harder, harder-

you _slut_ , Jin is hissing, and Kame's nodding with the back of his fist in his mouth, and that's enough for Jin. For the first time since he was fifteen he comes in his underwear and slides down the wall, balling a fist against the back of his eyes.

“What the fuck,” he says to himself. “What the _fuck_.”

_Tokyo, Kame._

It happens to him with regularity over the months that follow. Kame finds that he loses hours at a time. Whenever he feels uncomfortable in a situation, he seems to charge through it and wake up some time later, after the fact. He can never remember it. In a way, he doesn't want it to stop: who wouldn't want to skip the uncomfortable parts of life? It's just unnerving, that he can't remember anything when he wakes up. He's never sure whether things happened, or not. He loses the twists and turns of his life and when he wakes there's no indication of where he's gone. 

Most of the time, it happens when he's thinking about Jin.

When the band meets Jin at the airport, they hide out in a big black car across the street. Minders are sent in to grab Jin and to show him where to go. There are scores of photographers milling around, hot cartons of coffee steaming between their gloves. It's a cold spring evening, even for April, and Kame palms the glass to leave his hand print. 

“After this, it's straight to make-up and hair,” their manager says, from the front seat. “God knows what he's going to look like.”

“His hair's long,” Koki says. “Kind of like John Lennon. He looks like a hippie.”

“Oh God,” the manager says. “Nobody else is going on hiatus, do you hear? I don't care if somebody's dying. No more sabbaticals.”

“Hair today, gone tomorrow,” Junno says, and Ueda hits him.

There's a rush of noise and a bustle of folding bodies as the group pushes through the airport's revolving doors. For a moment, Jin is suspended behind glass with all of the photographers pressing forward, angling for the best shot. It sums up their lives better than words could, Kame thinks. Jin seems nonplussed but he probably isn't. His minders surround him as he leaves, protecting him from the crowd. He pushes his sunglasses further up his nose and makes his way to the car.

When the door opens, there's a struggle to get him inside without allowing the photographers to see too much. In the end, the door slams as soon as there's nothing of Jin in the doorway, and Jin lies inelegantly on the floor of the car as the engine starts. 

“This is one hell of a comeback,” he grumbles, pulling himself upright and jostling in between Ueda and Junno. Ueda touches his shoulder and Koki claps Jin's knee, and everybody seems so pleased to see him. Kame smiles across the car, but Jin isn't looking his way. 

“Fuck,” Maru says. “You really do look like John Lennon.”

“ _Everybody_ keeps saying that,” Jin says. “At least I don't look like Yoko Ono.”

“I think Kame looks like Yoko Ono,” Ueda says. 

“I do not,” Kame retorts. 

“Can't you see them doing _Imagine_?” Koki crows. “Kame looking really stoic and serious, Jin looking like...a hippie.”

“I don't look like a hippie,” Jin says. “What the hell is a hippie?”

“John Lennon,” Koki says, helpfully. “Kame's your Yoko Ono.”

“Didn't she ruin the band?” Junno says, and everybody looks at Kame. Kame quirks an eyebrow and catches Jin's gaze. Jin has a thoughtful look on his face, as if this is a test of the both of them.

“Clearly I'm not her, then,” Kame says, lightly, and Jin smiles. Things get easier, after that.

_New York, Jin._

“It's not on me, Kame. You think this is all on me, but it isn't.”

Kame storms the length of the floor so quickly that Jin can't believe there ever was space between them. One moment, Kame is standing still, the next, he's kissing Jin as if there's oxygen in Jin that he needs. 

“Kame,” Jin says, but Kame's grabbing his face, his jaw, and the sound is huffed between Kame's palms. The kiss is so brutal, so honest and so painful that Jin has to break away in order to breathe. There's a second's pause and then he instigates the next, turning around and around so that Kame is pressed against the wall. Their hips are hard together, so that Jin can feel the bones and the heat, and the kisses are harder still because of it. Jin's hands are tearing under Kame's shirt. 

“Oh, fuck,” Kame says. “Fuck, Jin, please-”

Jin has no idea whether that's a plea to stop or go on, but he errs on the side of positivity and loosens Kame's jeans. Kame wriggles them down his legs and hastily unbuckles Jin's belt. 

“You have condoms,” Kame says, to the point. It verges on judgmental but Jin's too drunk to care. “In your wallet.”

“Yeah,” Jin says. He has five in his wallet, a perpetual optimist. He takes it out of his pocket and hands Kame a foil wrapper. “I don't have-”

“I do, hang on, just get yourself ready, think of the girls in the club or something-”

“I don't need to think of them,” Jin says, a little stung. He turns, staring at Kame's ass as Kame rifles around in one of the desk drawers. Kame looks over his shoulder and there's something pleased about his expression as he takes in Jin's lowered gaze.

Kame preps and Jin strokes himself hard and it's awkward, standing close together, occasional kissing like heads bobbing together. The moment of impulse has passed and Kame has to keep swallowing down saliva, he's so nervous, so afraid of everything.

“Tell me that you want me,” Jin says, because he needs it, as he slides the condom on and Kame looks up to him, so wide with fear.

“I want you,” Kame says, turning around to the wall. 

“Fuck you,” Jin says. “Turn around. Don't face the fucking wall. You don't want me, turned away like that, do you?”

“Fuck off, Jin,” Kame grunts, but he's smiling. “You're such a fucking egocentric prick.”

“Yeah, well, takes one to know one,” Jin says, and the kissing is hotter then, easier. Kame backs up into the wall and Jin covers him with his body until Kame lifts up, wraps his legs around Jin's back.

“Can you handle this?” he says, arms around Jin's neck, nails dug in.

“Fuck off,” Jin says. “I've done this with girls that weigh more than you.”

Kame reaches behind and there's a slide, a wobble of Jin's knees as he tries to stop midway because Kame's crying out in his ear. It's so tight that Jin thinks he must have hurt him, and he can't stay standing, surely, can't do anything but think about marmalade and cold scrambled eggs and Junno naked. Junno naked covered in scrambled eggs, that works for him, until Kame pushes down and scratches the length of Jin's back as he makes a sound so unlike himself. 

“Fuck,” he says, almost a sob, a wobbly, hard note. “Oh, fuck, Jin, hurry up.”

It's awkward and uncomfortable but Jin goes with it, chases the sensation of heat circling him, the feel of Kame's hips against his, Kame's cock against his stomach, Kame's nails in his back. Kame squeezes a hand in-between and gets himself off, his head dropping back, his body dropping back from Jin against the wall. His other arm is above him and the angle is much harder for Jin to sustain, but he does because Kame looks so beautiful. When Kame comes, he yanks away a piece of the wallpaper. 

When Jin does, his knees almost give way and he can't think of anything but Kame's face, twisted with pure, undiluted pleasure.

When they regain feeling, Kame throws on Jin's shirt by accident. It makes it all the sadder when he stands by the window and tells Jin to leave.

_Tokyo, Kame._

Jin treats Kame strangely over the months that follow and it takes Kame a while to notice it. Thing is, he's felt so strange about Jin that he assumes Jin's picking up on it. His secret thoughts must be written all over his face. Maybe Jin knows that Kame can't stop thinking about what it'd be like to fuck Jin – maybe that's why Jin's so weird with him.

They barely hang out together anymore, outside of work. When they were younger, they used to. Kame hoped that after Jin came back from America things would be right again; that the distance would have done them both good. It seems to have cooled their tempers, and everything else. Instead of fighting, they don't talk all that much. They don't look at each other. They hang out with other people. It works, but it's lonely and sad.

And, Kame's discovering, not conducive to quelling sexual tension. The less Jin looks at him, the more Kame wants him to. The less Jin speaks to him, the more Kame wants to hear his voice. It's absolutely infuriating, but Kame's so used to unwanted feelings when it comes to Jin that he copes with it as best as he can. 

Only Jin is starting to notice, Kame thinks, and that's a level of unwanted that even he can't handle.

At 3am one Tuesday morning, Kame can't sleep. He must been trying since 10pm as he remembers going to bed then, but he just can't drop off. Suddenly, it's five hours later and Kame doesn't know where the time has gone. It doesn't seem to matter, because he's still awake. At 3.02am, he 'phones Jin.

_Tokyo, Jin._

Jin lies in bed, unable to sleep. The weird procession of thoughts started a little after 10: he can't stop worrying about the dance routines, the recordings, the busy schedule, the tiredness, the organising the other members in the mornings. He's never worried about things like these before and he puts it back to returning to the band. Things haven't been quite right since he came back from Los Angeles. Koki assures him that it's just a very long transition period but Jin isn't sure. He's never been sure, not from the moment he put his foot down on Japanese soil.

At a little before 3, he throws his pillow at the wall and stares at the ceiling. Unable to stop thinking about Kame's bank balance, of all the fucking things, he's furious with himself. They all have to be up at 7am, and if he doesn't have enough sleep he'll have to be drinking coffee all day and that does nothing for his stomach because nobody in the band ever has time to eat much. And because nobody has time to eat much, he's looking a bit thin at the moment, and people keep pointing it out, only the other day Junno said something about the turtle trying to out-run the hare, something about the turtle being on an extreme diet, something--

“Fucking hell,” Jin says, sitting him. He's turning into Kame.

His 'phone rings, then, frightens the life out of him. The screen says _Kame_. He only picks it up to prove to himself that he's Jin, that Kame's on the other end of the line, so Jin can't be him.

“Do you want to go for breakfast?” Kame says. 

“Yeah,” Jin says. He's not hungry, but seeing Kame in the flesh, he needs the proof. He needs to know what the fuck is going on. He needs to know why Kame doesn't seem to want Jin to touch him. After the night in New York, Jin wasn't expecting romance, candlelight, roses. Kame is so distant, it's like he's trying to pretend the night never happened. Jin hadn't expected that.

He wonders, as he throws his clothes on, whether Kame wants that night not to have happened. Grabbing his keys and shuffling his trainers on, he wonders whether he does.

_Tokyo._

They meet at a small ramen stall. Neither of them can believe there's one open at 4am, and Kame fancies it more than the American breakfast Jin keeps salivating about. 

They're silent for a long time as the food cooks. There's a warmth in their shoulders touching and the silence isn't uncomfortable. The man hands them their bowls and stands a bit further back, detecting the need for an iota of privacy. He has a younger girl with him, a daughter, probably, and they engage in conversation some way off.

“Couldn't sleep?” Jin says, around noodles. He stirs with his chopsticks, then eats as much as he can. Kame is more delicate.

“No,” Kame says. He's waiting for his to cool down. “You?”

“No,” Jin says. “I couldn't stop thinking about the financial future of the band. Fuck, I think I'm turning into you.”

“Huh,” Kame says. “I thought America might chill you out a bit.”

“Me too,” Jin says. “Only weird things keep happening to me.”

“What weird things?”

“Ah,” Jin shovels more noodles in, and there's a pause. “I dunno. Just, things – I keep thinking weird things. Look, where are we?”

“Where are we?” Kame echoes. “We're at a ramen stand. We're near-”

“No, fuck, I know that,” Jin says, mildly irritated. “Where are _we_?”

“Us?”

“Yeah.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Kame says. 

“Fuck,” Jin says, shaking his head. “I knew you'd feign innocence but I didn't think you'd be like this.”

“Like what?” Kame says. “Feign innocence about what?”

Kame is so frightened that he's forgotten about his noodles, which are long cool. Jin can't possibly know as much as he seems to know. Kame's thoughts aren't that articulate. They can't be that obvious. Only Jin seems to know a lot; he's confident, arrogant, even, which usually means he's onto something. 

“Look,” he says. “I don't know what you're thinking about, but I think things are just too awkward between us to go anywhere, and-”

“What?” Jin is looking at Kame as though he's grown a third head.

“I must have kissed you, in New York, but I don't think we should go there. I just don't.”

“Kame,” Jin is saying, his face wrung out. “Kame, what the _fuck_ ,”

“Look, I just don't think it'd be good for the band.”

“Kame, we slept together.”

There's a long pause, and Kame puts his chopsticks down quietly. 

“What?” he says.

“You heard me,” Jin says, his eyes searching Kame's face. “You heard me. In New York.”

“No,” Kame says. “We didn't. We didn't do that. I'm not even sure that we kissed.”

“How can you not- Kame, what? How can you not be sure? You were there!”

“All I remember is going towards you and touching your face,” Kame says, miserably. “I don't remember anything afterwards. We didn't sleep together. I'm sure that we didn't.”

“Were you drunk?”

“No!” Kame says. “A little, but not. I'd have remembered. I don't-- Jin, this didn't happen.”

“Are you saying that I'm fucking making it up? Are you calling me a liar, Kame? Because I didn't fucking make this up. It happened. I don't know what the fuck's wrong with you-”

“Jin, I swear, this didn't happen. I don't know what did, but-”

“You're ashamed of me,”

“I'm _not_ ashamed of you. I just...I don't want us to be like that. I don't want it to ruin the band. We're on a knife edge, anyway, aren't we. We're on really thin ground and I think anything like this would ruin-”

“You're pretending it hasn't happened-”

“No, no, I'm not! I'm telling you the truth. It didn't happen, and it should stay that way. I don't want this to go any further.”

Jin sits, his head in his hands. There's a very long and awkward pause, and Kame doesn't know what to say. He remembers being in the shower, touching his mouth. His lips hadn't felt bruised. He hadn't slept with anybody, he's certain of it. He's certain that if it had happened, Jin would have fucked him, and since Kame hasn't done that before he knows he would have felt it afterwards, and there was nothing. It can't have happened.

“Okay,” Jin says, eventually. “But you could just own something, for the first time in your fucking life. You know that this happened.”

“I honestly don't, Jin,”

“Well, fine, have it your fucking way. It's fine. We'll just pretend it never happened. I don't care. I don't know why I ever cared, we are so stupid, this is so stupid.”

“You really want me.”

“I do. I did.”

“Are you with somebody?” Kame can't remember her name. He hopes that Jin can.

“I can call that off.”

“But-”

“I've had all these weird thoughts about you.”

“Like what?”

“You don't want to know,” Jin says, reaching into his wallet and tossing down a bank note onto the stand. There are condoms in there and the sight makes him sneer at himself. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“I'll walk with you,” Kame says, throwing his own money down and following Jin. 

“Don't bother,” Jin says. 

“I've been having weird...episodes, too,” Kame says.

“Right,” Jin says. 

“Weird blackouts.”

“What do you mean, blackouts?”

“I just lose...time. I lose track of time. One minute I'm somewhere, the next I'm...somewhere else. I don't know what's happened in the interim. It's really strange. I don't think I'm sleeping enough, probably-”

“Nice one,” Jin says, his eyes full of sarcasm, his mouth tight and hard. “That's your excuse, is it? Sorry that I let you fuck me, Jin, I must have _lost track of time_.”

“Jin!” Kame starts, furious, but Jin's already turned heel and is heading in the wrong direction. “Well, fuck off, then,” he spits, almost to himself. “I'm sick of fucking chasing you.”

_Tokyo, Kame._

“I'm just not doing it anymore,” he says, to Koki. Koki is lying with his head in Kame's lap, fixated on _Halo 3_. He's paying half his attention, which suits Kame fine because he always sounds ridiculous when he talks about Jin. 

“I'm done chasing.”

“Jin...you just have to leave him to his own devices,” Koki says, tilting the controller with his hands and nudging Kame's thigh. “He gets really pissed really fast but he cools down fast, too.”

“You both do,” Kame says.

“Yeah,” Koki grins. “I'm glad you're not chasing him anymore. You need to take time for yourself.”

“Yeah,” Kame echoes, but he doesn't feel it. Since they spoke, he can't stop wondering about New York. Whether he and Jin – no. They can't have done. Kame thinks he'd remember it, he surely would remember it, because there's been so many times he's wanted it. Wanted to feel Jin's mouth on his collarbone, his hair buried under Kame's jaw--

he wants to tell Koki about the kissing, about the things he wants to do to Jin, but he knows that he shouldn't. There's nothing that Koki could do, anyway. It'd just make things tense and awkward. Koki shouldn't know the things that Kame knows. Nobody should.

Still, though, it'd be amazing to just say, 'Koki, I think I'm in love with Jin, what should I do?'

“Do you ever get to do anything interesting in this game?” Kame says, eventually. 

“Sure,” Koki says. With his hand, he grabs Kame's wrist and places his hand on the controller. Tentatively, Kame moves the other one around him, until he's holding on and Koki's hands are on top of his own. Slowly, Koki moves Kame's fingers over the right buttons. 

“I wish Jin were like you,” Kame says, because he can't help it. 

“What?” Koki says. “Why?”

“Because--”

He finds himself staring into the bathroom mirror. It's the middle of the night and the tap's running. The sink has nearly overflowed.

“Fuck,” he says. “Not again.”

_Roppongi, Jin._

“Oh, fuck,” she says, her head tilting back, the word a long bubble in her throat. “Jin, fuck-”

He doesn't speak when they fuck, because it's easier. He likes her rude language and the way she takes handfuls of his hair when she's pleased. He likes that she wraps her legs around his waist so tight. He likes that she doesn't ask him to be anything else than what he is. He likes that he's known her so long that what he is no longer matters.

He likes most her narrow hips, pressed against the hard mattress.

They met shopping, which was unusual for Jin. Jin meets people in clubs; it's easier to fuck anonymously in the middle of the night with the streetlights illuminating everything through the windows. It's not easy to do it in the middle of the day, when you have to converse, when you have to perform a bit. 

She's older than him by a considerable amount, Jin reckons, but they don't talk about that. They don't really talk about anything, now. She's got a beautiful apartment in Roppongi and a well-paid job, he assumes. Or maybe her husband has. Her nails are always done, her hair is always neat. She talks about schedules and the importance of good planning. Her heels click on the tiles of her kitchen floor.

“Suiko,” he whispers.

When he fucks her, she goes wild.

When he comes, she always rubs the base of his skull as though he's so much younger than he is. He doesn't know whether she always comes, or not. Sometimes she does. It's not something they talk about. 

He's almost there when there's a flash of something else: Koki, Kame, a conversation, something, words, something. He scrunches up his eyes and tries to put it out of his mind. For a moment or two, he succeeds, there's a silence. Her hand moves down and covers his, between her legs. He's slowed down. He apologises in her ear and she makes 'mmm' noises of forgiveness. It's all so easy.

“Oh god, oh god,” she's saying, “oh _god_ ,” and she's tightening around him as Kame speaks somewhere very far off. 

“He says that he fucked me. Why would somebody lie about something like that?”

_Tokyo._

Two days later, the message says, 'we need to fucking talk. Jin.'

Kame's tired of talking. He goes over to Jin's apartment, and when Jin answers the door he's half-naked and he's been drinking. Again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Kame says, gruffly, pushing in through the door.

“What's wrong with me?” Jin says, incredulous. “You're the one telling Koki all of this shit about me lying to you!”

“What?” Kame whirls around on his foot, stares at Jin. “Has he said something?”

“No,” Jin says. “Now he doesn't have to, either-”

“I didn't tell him anything,” Kame says. “How the fuck do you know about it?”

Jin opens his mouth and then closes it. Kame narrows his eyes. “Jin?”

“I just do,” he says, weakly.

“What is it you think that I said?” Kame says. 

“I heard you saying that I lied, that I lied about us fucking-”

“You were in my house?”

“No,” Jin says. “No, I was-”

“I didn't say that, Jin. I don't know what the fuck's going on here.”

Jin sits down on the sofa, pushes a beer bottle towards Kame. Kame tucks his feet underneath him and takes it, grateful. 

“I heard you say it,” Jin says. “I don't know how. I was with somebody. I wasn't anywhere near your house.”

“Maybe you imagined it,” Kame says. “You're angry with me.”

“I heard you talking to Koki. Were you with Koki, the night before last?”

“Yeah,” Kame says. “We didn't talk about us.”

“You were touching his hands.”

“Jin, you're freaking me out.”

“I'm sorry.”

There's a long pause, and Kame downs most of his beer.

“You said last week that weird things keep happening to you,” he says.

“Yeah,” Jin says. “I keep seeing stuff. It's like it comes into my head, like I can't control it. Isn't that schizophrenia or something? I think I'm going mental.”

“What sort of stuff?”

“Hah,” Jin says. “You really don't want to know.”

“Oh, just tell me,” Kame snaps. “I'm not as innocent as you think I am.”

“You want to fucking bet? Right, right, then, fine. It happened when I was in LA, I kept thinking weird thoughts about...you fucking me.”

“Right,” Kame says. 

“As a girl.” Jin says.

Kame frowns. “Which of us is the girl?”

“Me,” Jin says. “Shut up. I don't know where it came from. I don't want to be a girl. I'm not harboring secret thoughts.”

“What else?”

“I can't sleep at night. I worry about all the shit you worry about. Junno told you something about turtles and hares and extreme dieting, I kept thinking I was getting thin, but I'm not. You are.”

Kame goes a strange, pale shade, and swallows. He looks like he's regretting the drink.

“Jin, you have to swear that you're not winding me up,” he says. “That you're not getting all of this from other people, to try and play a prank on me. I can't handle it. I can't.”

“It's not,” Jin says. “It's fucking driving me insane. I wish it would stop.”

“Strange stuff has been happening to me,” Kame says, his face agonized. “I told you. I'm losing hours at a time. I'm skipping over things. It's like blackouts, but I don't think I'm fainting. I'm just fast-forwarding parts of my life.”

“You stop somewhere and wake up somewhere else?”

“Yeah,” Kame says. “Sometimes if I think about it, I can do it deliberately. Sometimes it's random. Mostly it involves you.”

“What do you remember about New York?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I remember walking across the room,” Kame says. “I remember taking your face in my hands, because we were arguing, and I wanted to kiss you. I've always wanted to kiss you, I think, always. And I remember leaning in. And that's all. The next thing I remember, I was in the shower. I don't know whether it happened. We didn't fuck, Jin. I didn't – I've have felt it. I didn't feel anything. I wasn't even sure we'd kissed – I didn't feel kissed.”

Jin is quiet for some time, processing. “What other blackouts have you had?”

“I had one...fuck. I was in the shower, and I was...” Kame stares at Jin hard, until Jin smiles, greedy and triangular. “I was thinking about my ex, you know, whatever works for you. I was tired. I was thinking about her one minute and then I thought about you, and-- after that, it all went blank. I woke up in bed with wet hair.”

“Huh,” Jin says, nodding. 

“When Junno told me I was losing weight, I blanked him out. I don't remember what I said to him. I thought about you. The next thing I knew, we were filming our individual shots. It was on the set of _Keep The Faith_ , I remember. He was worried because I had tight jeans on.”

“I said you were still fuckable,” Jin says. “To Junno. I said that. When he said what he did, about you.”

“But you weren't in the room,” Kame says. “It was just Junno and I. That never happened.”

“Did you want it to happen?”

Kame thinks. “I wanted somebody to want me. Yeah, probably. I thought about you. That's all I remember.”

“What if I'm filling in the gaps?” Jin says. “I know that sounds fucking stupid, I know, but. You were thinking about your ex, and I was thinking about me being a girl, you fucking me. And then it changed, into me fucking you. Which is what I think about a lot, so I didn't think much of it. And New York – I swear that happened. I was so sure. I was so _sure_.”

“I think you're filling in stuff that I...don't want to be around for. Things make me so uncomfortable, Jin. I'm skipping stuff. You're filling in the blanks. You were always so fucking open – you want to live everything, take every experience. You don't run away, like me. You think you're living stuff, but it's just the stuff that I _want_ to happen. The stuff I don't do, because I'm a coward.”

“So what,” Jin says. “Did it happen? Did any of it happen?”

“I don't think so,” Kame says. “I think in New York...I just wanted it to. I don't think it happened.”

“I don't know that I believe this,” Jin says, beginning to laugh. “It all sounds so stupid.”

“Okay,” Kame says. “I'll prove it. You have to come and sit next to me. Do something I'd be uncomfortable with. It only works if I'm uncomfortable.”

“You could just ask me to touch you if you want it so badly,” Jin says sardonically. “This is really a bit much.”

“Fuck off,” Kame says, and Jin comes to sit beside him.

“What do you want me to-”

“Anything, Jin. Just, fuck, whatever-”

Jin catches Kame's jaw, leans in and kisses him hard on the mouth. For a second, nothing happens, and then there's a strange tugging sensation. Everything goes quiet and sound rushes past them. Jin feels as though he's falling asleep. When he opens his eyes, he's flat on the lawn, staring up at the sky. Kame sits, cross-legged, some way off.

“See,” Kame says. “That's what happens.”

“Fuck,” Jin says, rubbing the back of his skull. “That's pretty fucking extreme. You could just say, 'no, thank you'.”

“Yeah, well,” Kame says, shrugging. “I always have to make things difficult, right?”

“Kame,” Jin says. “Can you get us back inside? Only my keys are still in the apartment.”

“You have to do something-”

Jin is crawling towards him, across the grass. He straddles Kame, and Kame lies back, and the stars reflect in the darkness of his eyes. It's astounding to Jin and when the feeling washes over him, the pull into something lost and empty and black, he wants to cry out to make it stop. 

 

They sit inside and Jin finishes his drink.

“It's kind of like _Heroes_ ,” he says. 

“No, it's not,” Kame says. “It's not heroic at all. It's fucking cowardly.”

“No, it's like...you're bending space and time. It's fantastic. You don't ever need to use public transport again. You could sell your car. It's like time travel. It's incredible. I don't know why you're not thrilled.”

“It's not just about moving from one place to another,” Kame says. “It's about losing moments. I lose parts of my life because I'm not man enough to face them. That's...it's...horrible. And you're living them. You're living the moments I'm not. You're living the things I _think_ , even, the things I'm not even honest enough to admit to thinking.”

“You could kiss me,” Jin says. “And kiss me. And kiss me. Until you stop being afraid.”

“I could,” Kame says. “Would you stop-- the girls. All the girls. Would you stop?”

“Yeah,” Jin says. “I wanted you. I always wanted you. You just never-”

“I know.”

“Maybe it's just about letting go,” Jin says. “Maybe it's just about taking the plunge. Going for it.”

“Letting go and going for it?”

“Something like that. Does that make any sense?”

“No,” Kame says. “None. Take me to bed, Jin.”

_Tokyo, Jin, two months later._

The message from Suiko reads, “I've been thinking about you.”

“Stop it,” Jin sends back. “I told you, it's over. You have to accept it. It was a fling. It was just a fling.”

“You don't really want to give me up,” she says. “You loved me.”

“No,” Jin says. “I was confused.”

“You told me that you loved me.”

“I was confused.”

“I'm going to tell my husband.”

“Tell him,” Jin sends. “If you want. I don't care. Ruin your marriage. I won't take you back.”

“Do you still dream about me? Whoever you're fucking now, whichever girl-- does she hold you in her arms when you come? Does she treat you like-”

_Tokyo, Suiko._

Jin blocks her number from his 'phone. The messages come and bounce back. He doesn't think about Suiko, probably, but she thinks about him. The rage burns harder with each unwanted message. And one day, one otherwise uneventful day, she tells her husband.

_Tokyo, Kame._

The thing Kame likes second best is the back of Jin's hands beneath his head when they fuck. Jin has a habit of burying his face in Kame's neck, mouthing his earlobe and his collarbone, hissing obscenities. He rests his arms flat on the bed and his hands beneath Kame's head, and it's so protective. Like being wrapped in something. Kame wraps his arms around Jin's shoulders and his legs around Jin's back and he feels his hips roll, slow and deep, and he breathes, slow and deep. The thing he likes most of all is that he's managed to calm Jin down: Jin's rough, hard, heavy-handed. It's not something that Kame always enjoys and he's managed to get him to slow down, to make everything seem like it'll last forever. 

He still bites, though. Kame swats him on the shoulder, every time he does.

He tilts his head back and closes his eyes and loses himself in it. It's glorious and complete and wonderful. He's stopped missing out on life. He no longer wakes up in different places, unsure of where he's been. 

“Oh, fuck, Jin-” he says. 

“Get on with it, then,” Jin grunts back.

_Tokyo, Jin._

The visions have stopped. The voices, too. Jin guesses it's because they've made every one of them real. Things have gone back to being peaceful. They still fight, of course, but it's better now than it ever has been. Kame's more chilled, he eats more. Jin's trying to grow up in the best way that he can. They face their problems, rather than fleeing them. 

Jin doesn't tell Kame that he's having trouble with Suiko. He's not sure how to. That's the only problem they haven't faced yet. Jin is hoping that she'll give up. 

“Get on with it, then,” he grunts, in Kame's ear. Kame likes it slow, likes it to go on and on and on until neither of them can stand it, until they're wrung out and gasping for it. Jin's still learning the art. Until he does, he'll be as rude to Kame as Kame will take. 

“Fuck off,” Kame says. But he concedes, roughly moving Jin out of the way, manipulating them both so that he's on top.

It's what Jin likes best of all. 

When Kame's on top, it isn't slow, it isn't a performance. It's just fucking: clumsy, hard, undignified. Jin fucking loves it. He moves up against the headboard, sits up and wraps himself around Kame, forcing Kame's legs to bend around his back. He bites down on Kame's throat until Kame wallops him. His other hand is on his cock and it quickens when Jin bites down, so Jin doesn't pay the thump much attention. 

There's sweat running down Kame's back, Jin can feel it on his knees. He licks his collarbone and it's salty, it's hot and gorgeous and good. Their kisses are salty, too, disjointed and rocking and salty. Kame moves forwards and backwards, faster and faster and faster, until he bites down on Jin's lip, hard, to muffle the sound in his throat. Jin scratches the length of his back until he lets go, and the sharpness of the pain when he does tips him over the edge.

Kame leans against him for some time afterwards, and Jin strokes from the back of his skull to the small of his back, even and firm. Kame turns his head on Jin's shoulder, says, “fuck” in Jin's ear, and Jin laughs at him. 

“Shut up,” Kame says, but he doesn't move.

_Tokyo, Kame._

Kame goes to work the next day. He's filming _One Pound Gospel_ and he has to be up early, which is always a chore because it means leaving Jin in bed. Jin has a habit of stretching out into the space Kame's left behind, snoring a hedonistic snore. It's always hard to leave. 

There's hardly any daylight when Kame leaves Jin's apartment, strides towards his car. He's got coffee in a flask which should set him right. He's probably not fit to drive, yet, but he'll manage. Reaching for his keys, he stops looking at the path in front of him. He doesn't grab a hold of them until he's at the car door, and when he looks up at his reflection in the glass, there's a man standing behind him.

He breathes in, hard, drops his thermos onto the ground as he whirls around. Behind his back, he struggles to activate the lock on the door.

“Who are you?” he says, quickly, out of breath. “What do you want?”

“Hah,” the man says. “Think you can get out of that easily, do you? You little twat. You little...I can't see what the fuck she saw in you. You're a reedy little thing, aren't you? I'm surprised you can get it up-”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Kame says. “You must have got the wrong person.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man is saying, pushing Kame up against the car door. He's tall, stocky, his mouth bends in an unnatural way. “I'm sure. This is the right address. I'm in the right place, alright. You're the man who's been sleeping in my bed.”

“What?” Kame says, hearing the telltale click of the lock and trying not to show it. “Who are you?”

The man sneers at him, but there's a hint of confusion in his face. “Are you Akanishi Jin?”

Kame frowns, pausing for a second. He bends his hand backwards around the door handle, prising it very slowly. “No,” he says. “I don't know that name.”

There's an inch of a gap as he says so, and if he can just yank it, suddenly, he might be able to get in. “I don't know who that is.”

“Liar!” the man roars, pushing his hand on the door and slamming it closed. “You think you can get away? You think we're done here?”

His hand closes around Kame's throat. Kame's eyes close, unable to understand or process what's happening. There's hot coffee on the street around his shoes. It's all he can do to think of something, one thing that could get him out of--

he fumbles in his bag, his hands shaking. “Look!” he says, brandishing his driving license, struggling to breathe. “I'm not who you think I am! I don't know what your business is here, but you're at the wrong place. Please stop, please stop!”

The man lets go of Kame and takes the license, studying it, frowning at the picture. After a long two minutes, he holds up his hands in defeat and steps away from the car. Kame's hand goes to his throat, bent at the waist, trying to breathe in shaking sobs.

“Back a bit,” Kame chokes. “Get away from me. I don't want you near the car.”

He backs onto the pavement. Kame opens the door with a shaky hand, climbs into the car. He starts the engine, one eye fixed on the man as he drives off. He doesn't know what to think. It's typical, with Jin. He's never known what to think when he's with Jin. 

When he arrives at the studio, he sends Jin a message.

_Who are you fucking, Jin? Some guy...was here this morning. Call me._  
K.

Tokyo, Jin.

Jin waits for Kame to come home. He's furious, absolutely furious. With himself, with Kame, with everybody. 

“I'm not fucking anyone,” he says, the moment Kame gets the door closed. “I swear. The last person I was with, Suiko, I broke it off. The moment you and I got together. It's been over for months. I swear, Kame. I _swear_. Why the fuck did you believe-”

Kame looks at him, arms folded. “Who is he?”

“I think it's her husband,” Jin says. His hand creeps around the back of Kame's neck, holding his chin up. He frowns. “She said she was going to tell him.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Kame says, swatting Jin's hand away. He pulls his jacket up, self-conscious.

“I thought she'd go away,” Jin says. “I didn't think she'd tell him. What did he want?”

“Just to frighten me,” Kame says. “He thought I was you.”

Jin's hand is crawling around his neck again, and Kame shudders. The collar of his jacket is open and in the dim hall light-

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jin says. “Get into the light. Let me see. Get into the light.”

He almost drags Kame into the living room, where the light is harsh, and Kame shrinks into himself. “It's nothing,” he says. “Jin, it's just, I don't think-”

Jin is studying the imprint on Kame's neck as if it's a mathematical formula, as if there's a trick to it that he needs to figure out. He's deathly quiet. Kame realises that the make-up must have worn off. 

“That bastard,” Jin says, slowly.

“ _Jin_ ,” Kame says. “Leave it. I got rid of him. Please, leave it. He meant business. I think he's got the message now.”

“I'm going to-”

“Jin, stop it. Stop it. Please. I'm going in the shower. I just want to go to bed, alright. Alright?”

Jin looks at him, at Kame's soft eyes, feeling an unbearable tug in two directions. The marks on his neck glow redder by the second. He can see the outline of a ring, an identity. The thought of the man standing outside the apartment while Jin slept, the thought of him with his hand around Kame's throat--

“Alright,” he says, softer. “Alright.”

_Tokyo, Kame._

No amount of washing makes the mark go away, Kame realises. The warm water doesn't calm him down. He's managed to stop his hands shaking but inside, he trembles all over. He had hoped that a hot shower would make things seem better, but it hasn't helped. 

He doesn't know what to think. A part of him believes Jin, because Jin is bad at hiding his feelings, bad at hiding anything, really. Deception isn't his forte. And he has an insatiable hunger for Kame – wants him, all of the time, and if he were doing somebody else he probably wouldn't want Kame as much as he does. 

On the other hand, there's so much to do with Jin that's mistrust and hurt, months and months of suspicion and pain. 

He wants Jin in with him, he realises. It isn't the shower. It isn't the hot water. It's Jin. He wants Jin there. Truth doesn't matter as much as feeling does. Feeling brings trust, not knowledge. 

“Jin,” he calls through, turning off the shower so that Jin can hear him. He shivers in the sudden cold. “Jin?”

There's no answer.

“Fuck, _no_ ,” he says, hauling a towel from the rail and bursting out of the bathroom.

 

_Roppongi, Jin._

Jin sits and waits in the living room. It's plush, luxurious: the sofa is black leather with a studded back. He remembers fucking Suiko there, half on the shag carpet. It seems a long time ago. The photographs of she and her husband still sit on the mantelpiece. Both of them are smiling, plastic smiles. It says something that they're still there.

“I'm glad that you came to see me,” the man says. “Though I think you came to see her.”

“No,” Jin says. “I came to see you.”

“I was about to pay you a visit, actually,” the man says. “That little slip of the thing – he's who you're with now, isn't he? Didn't take too much digging to work that out.”

“You had no right to touch him,” Jin says. “No fucking right. What are you, some kind of nutcase? You could have killed him.”

“If I'd known that he was your toy, I would have,” the man says. “It would have been poetic, don't you think?”

“Where's Suiko?”

“Not here,” the man says in an ominous tone. “She's lovely, isn't she?”

“Lovely,” Jin says, “isn't the word I'd use. Downright poisonous, maybe. She's a fucking whore. She gave it up to me so fucking easily. Is that what you want to know? What the _fuck_ do you want from me? Don't come near my apartment again. Don't fuck with the people I-- don't. Tell me what you fucking want and I'll give it to you.”

“Oh,” the man says. “Look around you, you cunt. What could I want that isn't here? What could you give me?”

“Listen,” Jin says. “I'll do anything. Just don't touch him again. Leave us alone. I didn't mean to-- I didn't mean to cause this. I didn't mean to ruin your marriage. I just...I just want you to leave us alone.”

“My marriage?” The man laughs. “We have a child, too. A daughter. Didn't you know? Didn't you know what she was throwing away for you?”

Jin shakes his head. She had narrow hips. Or maybe Kame did. One of them did. 

“Anyway,” the man says. “Leaving you alone wasn't really my plan. I thought that I could ruin your reputation, first-”

Jin's mouth is agape.

“Oh, yes, I know who you are. Didn't have to dig too hard to find that out, either. I could end both your careers, for starters. There's a lot I could do with your friend. Kame, was it? He's a charming little weed. Struggles so much. There's a _lot_ I could use him for, in my line of work.”

“What the-”

“You never thought to ask Suiko what her husband does? How she can afford to live in a palace like this? My God, you are stupid.”

Jin rises, turns around. He's on the losing side of the battle, and he knows it. He holds both of his hands in the air and takes a step towards the man. 

“I didn't mean to-”

“Oh, I'll do a lot of things that I _didn't mean to do_ to your friend, Jin.” the man says. “Just watch me.”

Well. If pleading won't work, Jin thinks, then something else must. Something inside him snaps, something makes his fist fly into the man's face. There's a crack of bone in the nose, the man's head goes back, the hair streaming. It'd be beautiful if it weren't terrifying, if the man hadn't retaliated, if the man hadn't reached behind him and produced a gun.

Jin swallows. He had this all set up, from the beginning. It was all planned. He didn't see it. He didn't see the risk. He _never_ sees the risk.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

“Yeah,” the man says, grinning manically. “Fuck would be right.”

Jin does the only thing he can think to do: jumps, and punches, as hard as he can, hoping to knock the gun away. It ends up in a tussle on the carpet, knees and arms over and under, cracking and clicking and the pain of it, the sheer pain of it blinds Jin. There's an arm behind his back, his own, it hurts so much, the strain on his shoulder. He can't think, he can't speak, he wants to be sick with it. The man pulls him up with it, so that they're both sitting upright, on their knees, like samurai. It's sick. 

“Oh, you like that,” the man says. “This is what I'll do to your Kame. I'll hold him like this while my men fuck-”

Jin scrabbles on the floor with his free hand, his vision wavering, the blood draining from his face. He can barely think but his fingers close around the gun. It's been kicked away to his side, forgotten, stupid, stupid. It only takes an instant. A second without a single thought. Jin holds the muzzle to the man's chin and briefly absorbs the look of absolute stricken terror. Then, he pulls the trigger.

_Tokyo, Kame._

Kame drives.

Kame knows. Kame knows the print of the gun on the man's chin, the way his head rebounded, the explosion. The mushroom cloud. The image is printed on the underside of Kame's eyelids. He'll see it forever.

He realises that he's no longer afraid. But he can feel Jin's fear from miles away.

_Roppongi._

“Jin, we have to go,” Kame says, tugs on the other's sleeve. “ _Jin_ , I mean it. We have to leave. Right now.”

“Kame,” Jin says. It could be minutes later, or hours, or days. He's not sure what's happening. The last thing he remembers is thinking about Suiko's narrow hips, or Kame's. How did Kame get here? “What did I do?”

“I don't _know_ ,” Kame says. “But we have to go.” 

It's a lie, but Jin doesn't see it. Realisation hits him and he swallows six times, swallows down the feeling of-- 

“Kame, I did this.” It's conjecture: there's a gun in his hand and brains plastering the walls.

Kame's face is stricken. “Jin, I--”

“Kame, do you _see_ this?” Jin pulls away. “Why are you here?” 

He looks Kame like a child, then, and Kame feels like something is eating away at his heart. “Do you see me? Do you see this? Do you see--”

“Jin, you didn't mean it. Let's go,” Kame grabs Jin's arm and tries to force it. “They're going to come, Jin. And we can't afford--”

“Kame,” Jin says, as if the name is a prayer. “Kame, I just killed a man. He has a family. A child. I just blew his head off. The walls and floor and ceiling are--”

He doesn't need to say it: it's all around them. And Kame knows. He hasn't smelt anything like it in his life and for that he's grateful. He keeps his eyes on Jin, always on Jin. 

"Jin--"

“Kame, I don't even remember it,” Jin chokes, his hands over his mouth. He goes towards a trashcan in a corner of the room and the soles of his trainers leave bloody smears. Kame sits beside him as he retches and heaves, kneading a circle in his back as hard as he's swallowing himself. His hair is in Kame's hands. 

“Let's go, Jin,” he says, again, when Jin is done. He tugs his hair, firm, it's no longer a request.

“I'm sorry,” Jin says. 

Kame clutches him and closes his eyes. Jin bends and rests his head on his shoulder. As the world falls away, there's a moan, an animal sound, of pain and regret.

In a blink, they are gone.

_Tokyo._

They regain themselves in a motel. Kame watches the news on the bed, still shaking. Occasionally he watches the steam slip underneath the bathroom door, proving that Jin's still in there, not about to run away again. Kame knows that he should shout at Jin but now is not the moment. His breath feels acrid as he breathes it.

“In Roppongi this morning, Yamamoto Ryuichi was found dead in his apartment,” the television says. “Police are quite sure that it was a homicide...evidence found at the scene...”

Kame silences it and lies down on the bed. The ceiling feels so close, as if the world is closing down in on him. It's terrifying how narrow everything feels now. He doesn't notice that Jin is done showering until Jin's face is there above him. He thinks it's a vision until water drops down from Jin's hair, into his eyes.

“Kame,” Jin breathes, and Kame runs his hands up Jin's sides. Jin is naked, soaking wet, heavy with the weight of realisation. 

“Jin,” Kame says.

“I'm so-”

There's a knock on the door. “Police--” It's muffled with the weight of the wood, but louder than anything they've heard before. Jin's hand goes for Kame's and his grip is so strong. Kame does what he has to do. He pushes him away, moves toward the other side of the bed. 

“Put on some clothes, first,” he hisses. He throws clothes at Jin and fills his pockets with money, a bottle of water. His hands are still shaking. Jin does whatever he says, his eyes hard and alarmed.

“Police--open up! We know you're in there!”

Kame makes for the bathroom and whips his head back toward Jin, who follows, stumbling over his jeans. “Are you ready?”

Jin nods. “You have everything?”

“Yeah,” Kame says. He's not sure that he can do this, but, well, they have to try. He's in it, now. There's no turning back. He thinks about the young girl at the airport. _See you in April_.

“We're going to come in--”

Jin reaches over and grabs Kame's hand, pulls him close, so they stand toe to toe in the small space of the shower. It's where it all began, Kame thinks.

“This freaks me out, you know,” Jin whispers, and his hair drips all over his clothes.

“Close your eyes,” Kame commands softly, and Jin does.

Kame thinks about the girl at the airport, and her mother. She had a hat on her head that she was trying to pull down, by its corners. It must have been a windy day. She had a raincoat on, bright green, beautiful. She was older, she had expensive taste. A string of pearls around her neck. _See you in April. See you in April._

“Ah,” she'd said, as if to nobody. “Love. Are you letting somebody go?”

“Yeah,” Kame had said, as he'd left. The plane had disappeared.

“Me too,” she says. “Planes-- what do we really need planes for, anyway? I don't think that I can really let him go. Not ever.”

Things slowly slide into place. Kame squeezes Jin's hand and wills the world away, for a moment. Jin thinks about a place called home, a place that doesn't exist. Kame can feel him thinking, the warm rush of impulse. The big, aching heart. And his own-- so stony and unsure. No more.

 

The door bursts open and the cops come in, gun-ready. All that's left for them is a duffel bag of clothing and a towel on the bed, warm and still wet. Steam comes from the bathroom, underneath the closed door. The boss nods towards it, warning caution. A few of the cops step towards it, nods are shared. They break the door down after a count of three. 

What they see stuns them all.

“All clear, boss.”

“What the _hell_?”

_Okinawa._

Two boys watch the sea. (The rain pours and pours and pours.)

“I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry,” one says.

“I said I'd let you go,” the other replies. “But I can't. I never, ever could.”

“Don't.”

“It's alright,” he says. “It's over now.”


End file.
